Woman Vanished in Wyoming — 5 Years Later, an Old Outhouse Reveals a Terrifying Answer

The Beginning: A Disappearance Without a Trace

In October 2010, 32-year-old freelance photographer Lorie Jensen left her home in Gillette, Wyoming, early in the morning. She was heading to the historic Hansen Homestead farm in the Bear Lodge hills, tasked with documenting abandoned sites for the Wyoming historical archive. Lorie was experienced, cautious, and familiar with the landscape. She carried her camera, tripod, and signature yellow backpack—just another routine assignment.

At 9:15 AM, Lorie called her husband Jeremy:
“I’m getting off the highway onto a dirt road. It’ll be quiet here.”
That was the last anyone heard from her.

She never returned home. Jeremy waited anxiously, then called the sheriff’s department late that night. By morning, a search operation was underway—police, volunteers, search dogs combed the area. The weather was cold and the terrain unforgiving. Two days in, they found Lorie’s locked yellow SUV hidden in a thicket near the farm. Her wallet, documents, and notes were inside. But her backpack and camera were gone. And so was Lorie.

No signs of struggle, no footprints, no evidence. Her phone had gone out of range just after her last call. Helicopters flew overhead, searchers scoured every inch, but it was as if Lorie had vanished into thin air.

Five Years of Silence

The search lasted weeks. Theories ranged from kidnapping to animal attack, but nothing fit. With no new leads, the case went cold. Lorie’s family held onto hope, but after the winter, even Jeremy admitted every logical avenue had been exhausted. The only trace left was a locked car and a missing woman.

For five years, the Hansen Homestead remained abandoned—until July 2015, when developers arrived to clear the land for a new ranch. The last structure standing was a warped, weed-choked wooden outhouse.

A Gruesome Discovery

On a summer morning, an excavator lifted the outhouse. The bottom collapsed, revealing a deep, dark pit. At first, workers thought it was just an old cesspool. But when someone shone a flashlight down, they saw a skull, pressed sideways against the wall, arms reaching upward as if grasping for escape.

The sheriff was called. The site was cordoned off, and forensic experts arrived. They found a skeleton, face up, arms stretched toward the opening, legs bent as if trying to stand. The bones were brittle, covered in earth and old boards. It was clear: this person had not fallen in by accident. She had been placed there, left to die in the darkness.

Nearby, they found a heavy metal object—a personalized lighter engraved with the emblem of an airborne division and the initials “SRV.” Lorie did not smoke, and no fingerprints matched hers. The lighter had fallen in at the same time as the body, likely from the pocket of whoever dropped her into the pit.

Forensic Revelations

The remains were taken to Cheyenne for analysis. Dental records confirmed the worst: it was Lorie Jensen. But the autopsy revealed more horror.
A fracture at the back of the skull indicated a strong but non-lethal blow—enough to cause pain and partial loss of consciousness, but not instant death. Soil particles in the nasal passages proved Lorie had been breathing while trapped underground.

Most chilling of all, the position of the arms and legs showed she had regained consciousness and tried desperately to escape. Cause of death: asphyxiation from toxic fumes in the old, sealed pit. She died slowly, fighting for her life in utter darkness.

The Hunt for the Killer

The lighter became the key piece of evidence. Investigators traced its emblem and initials to Clint Ray Walker, a former airborne division serviceman living near Sundance. Walker had a history of violence, drug abuse, and illegal poaching. Witnesses recalled seeing him in the area around the time of Lorie’s disappearance—sometimes covered in blood, sometimes carrying a heavy camera he claimed to have “found.”

His ex-girlfriend, Sarah Lynch, described Walker returning home agitated and aggressive, missing his signature lighter, and throwing away bloodied clothes. She remembered him calling the farm “the butcher shop,” a place where “no one would ever find anything until it all fell apart.”

Confrontation and Confession

Walker was arrested at a bar in Moorcroft, Wyoming. At first, he denied everything, but when confronted with the lighter and witness testimony, his story unraveled. He admitted to being at the farm, panicking when Lorie surprised him while he was butchering illegally hunted game. He struck her, then—fearing discovery—hurriedly hid her in the outhouse pit, not realizing she was still alive.

His confession was fragmented, hinting at panic and indifference rather than outright intent to kill. But the evidence was overwhelming.

Justice and Aftermath

The trial in spring 2016 drew statewide attention. The forensic evidence was damning: the head wound, the soil in the airways, the desperate position of the body, and the lighter—Walker’s silent signature. Sarah Lynch testified about Walker’s behavior and possession of Lorie’s camera. Rangers and locals placed him at the scene.

The jury took less than three hours to convict Walker of first-degree murder, concealment of a body, and obstruction of justice. He was sentenced to life without parole.

Lorie’s family finally laid her to rest. The old farm was leveled, the outhouse demolished. The silence that lingered over Bear Lodge was no longer the silence of uncertainty, but the quiet that comes after the last question is answered.

Conclusion

For five years, a family waited and hoped. In the end, the answer lay hidden in a forgotten place, beneath a structure no one would ever think to search. The truth was grim: Lorie had not simply vanished—she had been left to die, fighting for breath in the darkness, while her killer walked free.

Some mysteries end with heartbreak, but also with justice. And sometimes, even the most ordinary places can hide the most chilling secrets.